


Bind

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_30snapshots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo





	Bind

It's really goddamn difficult being in love with someone when you've got a job like Dean's, especially when that someone happens to be your brother, and happens to have a habit of getting into trouble and ending up tied up and beaten and choked and cut a lot. Dean thinks Sam gets into that shit more often than he does, thank you very much, although admittedly he's spent his fair share of time tied to a chair in a dirty basement getting smacked across the face. Still, seeing Sam all beat up and bloody is kind of disgusting, and kind of breaks his heart, bringing out all the big brother instincts confused with the... whatever those other instincts are, and making it hard to focus sometimes, Dean gets so freaked out.

The abandoned house is exactly as filthy and dark as he expects it to be, but that means it's also as unlocked and unguarded as he expects it to be. It's also completely silent, and Dean sneaks in through the back door, his shotgun raised and his flashlight off. The kitchen is empty-- _clean_ Dean thinks-- and he moves on, easing every step down so he doesn't make any noise. The bitch probably isn't going to attack him, she likes her victims pregnant or asleep, but he doesn't need to make a fuss anyway.

Speaking of which, Dean isn't sure why she picked Sammy anyway. He is most certainly not pregnant, regardless of what Dean might do to him, and he sure as hell wasn't asleep when she grabbed him. But then again, when something's hunting you, you usually get pissed, and pissed off supernatural creatures tend to make off with Sam when the going gets rough.

Dean peeks around another corner and follows with the shotgun when he spots the shape in the middle of the room, but he drops it and steps forwards when he realizes it's Sam.

"Hey," he hisses. "Hey, Sam!"

Sam stirs, moans. He's in pain. Dean crouches next to his brother, tied to the chair, predictable, and puts the shotgun down on the floor.

"Psst, Sammy," he whispers again, reaching up to push Sam's stupid hair out of his face. He rubs a thumb across Sam's cheek. "Sam, wake up dude, it's me."

Sam lifts his head, blinking, and groans again. "Dean?"

"Hey man," Dean says, smiling. "Let's get you out of here, huh?"

"She's coming back," Sam says, and he sounds terrible. Dean looks down his body, at all the shallow cuts on his bare chest, the blood dried on his arms and shoulders.

"Okay. That's okay. Lemme untie you, all right?" He's placating Sam, and reaches around to untie Sam's wrists from behind the chair back.

"No, Dean, really," Sam says, turning away. "She's coming back, you've got to kill her."

Dean lets go, the knots loosened, but knows Sam's right. "All right, so how do I do it?"

"Find her legs," Sam says, licking his lips. He's probably dehydrated, and Dean aches for him.

Wait, "What?"

"Her legs," Sam repeats, making that annoyed snort. "She leaves her legs behind when she goes out to hunt."

"That is so fucked up," Dean mutters. "Okay, and then what?"

"Salt 'em." Sam tilts his head back and laughs softly.

"Why'd she want to leave when she's got your pretty ass all tied up here?" Dean says, starting to look into another room.

"Fetal hearts," Sam calls. His voice sounds stronger. "I'm not enough, she needs her pregnant fix to be satisfied."

"That's gross." There's nothing in what might have been the living room. "Sit tight, Sammy, I'm going upstairs." Dean comes back into the room where Sam sits, in the dark, and grabs the canister of salt out of the duffel bag. He winks at Sam, who just sighs, and takes the stairs two at a time.

Dean is barely done with the first room when he hears the sound of wings, and then Sam is yelling his name. Dean thunders down the staircase and bursts into the room where Sam is being kept.

"What? What is it?"

"She's back," Sam moans, eyes wild. "She's back, Dean, you've got to find her legs before she gets back on them!"

"Weirdest fuckin'--" Dean mutters. "They're not upstairs, man!" Then he spots what he had thought was an end table, but instead is the lower half of a woman's torso, standing quietly in the corner, out of Sam's line of view.

Then Sam makes a sort of garbled sound, like a warning, and Dean turns around at the whump-whump of huge wings to see the top half of the woman diving for him.

He ducks and rolls, her sharp fingernails catching his back, but then he's beside Sam again, picking up the shotgun. He raises it to his shoulder and fires, the rock-salt round exploding in the manananggal's chest. She shrieks and comes at him again, and this time he ducks sideways, drawing her away from Sam.

He's got to get back to the legs before she reconnects, otherwise he's lost his chance. He scrambles across the floor and catches hold of the salt canister where he dropped it on the floor before.

The flying half-woman-vampire-bat sees what he's doing, and comes at him again. He's trying to open the salt and keep a hand on the gun, so this time she connects, digging her claws into his back and hanging on. Dean yells-- _christ_ that hurts!-- and the salt canister bursts open, spraying table salt everywhere. It gets all over Dean's front, and all over the body, covering the separated torso. The manananggal screams and lets go of Dean.

Dean shoves her away, firing another shot for good measure, and runs over to Sam. Sam is breathing hard, twisting in the chair unable to see, practically knocking it over. He grabs Sam's hands behind him and cuts the rope with the knife out of his boot, and then the restraints on Sam's legs and ankles.

Sam stumbles upwards and the two of them crash out the front door as the manananggal wails and flaps around in the room, unable to reconnect with her body.

"She'll be dead soon," Sam murmurs, raw and tired, and suddenly Dean is supporting most of Sam's weight.

He helps Sam across the yard to the car and opens the passenger side. "Holy crap, dude," he says, hoisting Sam in and helping him get settled. "I got a bottle of water somewhere, hold on."

"Dean," Sam says, catching his hand. Dean looks up, and Sam is smiling. In the dawn, Dean can see the dark circles under Sam's eyes, the dried blood on his lip. Sam leans forward and kisses him, and his lips are chapped. Dean grunts in surprise-- now is not the time for this, Sam is hurt-- and Sam pulls back.

"Yeah, water?"

Dean grins and finds the bottle, probably stale, but water anyway. He shucks off his jacket and settles it around Sam's shoulders. Sam grins and Dean winces at the way it pulls open the cut on his lip again.

"Let's get out of here," he says, and closes the door. By the time he's settled in the driver's seat and is turning on the car, Sam is practically asleep beside him.

 _Just another day on the job,_ Dean thinks, pulling away from the house. Maybe he'll tie Sam to something later; show him that it's fun once in a while, that it doesn't have to involve lifeblood and sinister motives. Not that Dean's motives are entirely pure.


End file.
